“What! do you call them black niggers fellow-creatures, master? That’s a rum joke, I guess,” exclaimed the skipper. “I should be happy to be of service to you, but you are so unreasonable,—that you are.”
“Scarcely unreasonable, sir,” urged Waller, mildly. “Can you not name a sum for which you could land all the people I have on board at Bahia, or the nearest port we can make.”
“No, sir; I guess no sum would pay me to defile my vessel in the way you propose,” said the Yankee. “I’ll take you and your own crew with pleasure; but the niggers are out of the question.”
“What! would you leave the poor wretches to perish in the most horrible way, with thirst and starvation?” exclaimed Waller, shuddering at the thought.
“They are niggers,” said the Yankee, coolly puffing forth a cloud of smoke, and leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied look.
“Hear me, sir!” exclaimed Waller, rising, a flush mantling on his brow. “I have six thousand pounds of my own in this world. That sum I will make over to you, by every legal means you can devise, if you will take these poor people on board your brig, and land them in a place of safety. This shall be over and above what my Government may award you. I entreat you, as you hope for mercy here and hereafter, to do as I ask.”
“Not if you were to go down on your knees and pray till to-morrow morning,” replied the Yankee, slowly. “Niggers are niggers, and they can’t be otherwise. If you and your people like to come aboard, you are welcome. You’ve got my answer, Sir.”
“Then, sir,” exclaimed Waller, rising from his seat, “I’ll trust to the negroes’ God, to mine, and to yours, for that help which you deny them. May you never be in the same strait and seek in vain for help. Good day, sir.”
The Yankee looked at us with an expression more of surprise than anger as we left the brig’s deck.
“Stay! you are not a bad chap, I guess. Here, just take these things; you are welcome to them.”